“Get some rest.” John turned and looked for Mansur and Steve. He needed to explain what they would do next.
86
Hemin stood on the riverbank, watching the murky waters of the Tigris flow past. On the opposite bank, just over a hundred meters away, was Syria.
It had been three days since he had ferried the men across. He had seen a lot of things in his time, but the bravery of the three friends, venturing into a war-torn country, where they knew no-one, couldn’t speak the language, and not knowing whether they could come back alive, all to save a girl and her daughter, was to be admired, and he couldn’t get them out of his mind. Where were they now? Had they succeeded?
The call from Mehmet three days ago had been niggling away in the back of his mind. He hoped Mehmet wasn’t up to his usual tricks. Hemin really wanted the three men to succeed. They had said they would call him when they were on the way back, but until now, he hadn’t heard a thing. He stupidly hadn’t taken their number, so he had no way of checking on them or even warning them Mehmet had called.
He bent down and picked up a flat rock, hefted it in his hand, then sent it skipping across the surface of the slow-moving river. It bounced three, four times before sinking to the bottom, the movement startling a white egret into flight from its perch on the opposite bank. He watched as it sped across the river, just above the surface as it flapped its wings to gain height. Reaching the opposite bank, it slowed and gracefully landed on a rock on the Turkish side of the river. Why couldn’t human beings live like that? In harmony with each other, the freedom to move around whenever and wherever they want.
He gazed back over the river to the fields, stretching away from the riverbanks. The other side looked just like where he was standing yet had seen so much death and destruction. It was all so unnecessary. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He would call Ferhad. Maybe he would have news.
87
The afternoon dragged as they waited for darkness to fall. The countryside had remained quiet, the distant shelling and gunfire from previous days absent.
Fortunately, they were shaded from the harsh sun by the trees, which hopefully also shielded them from any drones patrolling the skies. The women had talked in low tones or dozed while Naeem drifted in and out of consciousness. He wasn’t looking good. The pain must have been immense, and John suspected the wound was getting infected and would need antibiotics soon.
John, Steve, and Mansur had taken turns keeping watch, but John had not been able to rest. Whenever John sat down and tried to relax, his body started trembling, and if he closed his eyes, memories of the gunfight kept flashing before his eyes, so he gave up. He would get through it, he knew that. He’d been under intense stress before, and the trauma would eventually fade, as long as he kept himself busy. The main thing was to get Mia, Malak, and the women to safety. Otherwise, it would all have been for nothing.
John stood and walked over to where Mansur leaned against a tree, eyes on the road, his AK47 cradled in his arms.
“Kaif halek, habibi?” John asked. “How are you, my friend?”
“I’m good, John.” Mansur smiled briefly before his face returned to the sad expression he had when John approached. “I keep thinking about the boy. He should have been in school, not living like this.”
“Yeah,” John sighed. “I know. It’s all so bloody pointless.” He turned to look back at the women. “But his death was not a waste. These women will now have a chance at freedom.”
“Yes.”
John turned to gaze out across the fields. “It looks so peaceful out there.”
“Nature is beautiful, my friend. It’s us who ruin it.”
“Yup.” John smiled. “I still remember that morning vividly, when you took me out to see the sunrise in the dunes. That experience will stay with me forever.”
“You have to come back, John. You and Adriana.”
“I’d like that.”
Mansur shifted his position, adjusting his shoulder against the tree and adjusting the weight of the AK in his arms.
“I plan to spend more time with Warda and the girls. Recently, some days I’ve not seen the girls before they go to bed.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. Life can change in the blink of an eye.” He turned to face John. “Don’t you forget that, John. We have to value every moment we have with the ones we love.”
“I won’t forget.” John smiled. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stand watch for a while.”
Mansur shook his head. “I can’t.”
“No, neither can I.”
“John, there’s something bothering me about Naeem.”
“You, too?”
“Yes.” Mansur looked over John’s shoulder to where Naeem was dozing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded pile of paper. “Look at this.”
“What is it?” John unfolded it. “It’s in Arabic.”
“It’s some kind of special pass. I took it from the glove box of the pickup when we left. See, that is the official stamp of Hay’at Tahrir Al Sham, and this is his name.” Mansur pointed at a line of script. “It says here that he is to be allowed free passage through any checkpoint, as are the people with him.”
John frowned. “Maybe all these guys have one?”
“Maybe.” Mansur shrugged. “But I don’t think like this. It’s signed by a senior commander. Remember Karam mentioned an Emir had come when they rescued us? It doesn’t make sense. We are the enemy to them. We are kufaar, unbelievers. Even me.”
John handed the paper back and turned to look at Naeem.
“I don’t trust him either, but maybe we’re overthinking it? He’s got us this far.”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel right.”
“No,” John exhaled loudly. “To be honest, though, there’s not much he can do right now with that injury.” John looked toward the sun, which was noticeably lower in the sky. “Anyway, it will be dark soon. The sooner we are out of here, the better.”
88
Steve bent down, cleared a patch of ground, and sat down beside Mia.
“How’s she doing?”
Mia didn’t look up, just continued gazing at her daughter asleep in her arms.
“The same. She’s still warm.”
Steve reached out and felt the child’s forehead with the back of his hand.
“Yeah, she still has a temperature.” He sighed. “It won’t be long now. Don’t worry, we’ll get her to a doctor, get her some nutritious food, and she will be fine.”
Mia nodded.
“Are you okay?”
“I keep thinking of Karam. He was just a kid.”
“I know. Brave but just a kid. A sad waste of life.” Steve looked away, his gaze going out past the edge of the trees, across the fields. “Remember that time we went out to Ballarat for the weekend.” He looked back at Mia. “We panned for gold in the river, do you remember?”
Mia looked up at Steve, then past him at the fields beyond. “I remember.”
“You were so excited when you saw those tiny flecks of gold in the bottom of the pan.”
Mia nodded, a distant look in her eyes.
Steve looked down at the ground, picked up a pebble, and played with it between his fingers.
“That was the last trip we did together before you left.”
“It seems so long ago.”
“It does.” Steve looked up, “Why, Mia? Why did you come here? We were heartbroken.”
Mia turned to look at Steve.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Steve. I never meant to hurt anyone.” She shrugged. “I thought I loved him.” She looked away again. “No, I did love him. He was so nice to me. No boy had ever been nice to me before. I just... I got swept away.”
Steve nodded and looked over at Naeem.
“I wanted to kill him... I think I still do.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. It wasn’t all his fault, though. He was naïve, too. He was brainwashed, sold a dream, but it wa
s nothing like they said it would be.”
“But he still believes.”
“Yes.” Mia glanced over at Naeem, remembering their discussion about the Yazidi women. “He does. I thought maybe now, with Malak, he would go back to how he was before.” She shook her head. “But he’s too far gone.”
“Do you still love him?”
Mia sighed heavily.
“I’ve searched my heart for any trace of the love I once had, but it’s gone.” She looked down at Malak, her face softening briefly, but when she looked up, her eyes were hard. “He gave me the most beautiful thing in my life, but he also destroyed my life. I’ve tried hard to find forgiveness, but I feel nothing for him now.”
89
Craig was just about to file his report on the overcrowding crisis at the refugee camps in Northern Syria when the phone vibrated on his desk. He clicked send on the laptop, then reached for the phone, glancing at the screen as he picked it up.
“Sergei, any news?”
“You owe me a bottle of Glenlivet.”
“Tell me more.”
“Your friends were spotted going through a checkpoint at Ain Issa.”
“Fantastic.” Craig breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some news. “When was this?”
“Three days ago.”
“Three days? Shit. Nothing more recent?”
“No, my friend. That was all I heard. They were in a taxi heading west on the M4.”
Craig sighed and rubbed his face. He’d hoped to share some good news with Adriana but was back to square one.
“Okay, thank you, Sergei. I appreciate the update.”
“You are welcome, my Scottish friend. When are you coming to this side again?”
Craig screwed up his face as he tried to remember his schedule. “Next week, I think, Wednesday or Thursday. I’ll let you know.”
“Good. Bring the whisky. We’ll have a drink.”
“I will. Thank you, Sergei.”
Craig ended the call and stared down at his desk. Where the hell were they now?
He looked at the phone screen again. He’d better call Adriana. Some news was better than none at all.
90
They set out as soon as the sun dropped below the horizon, John leading the way with Naeem, Mansur in the middle of the column of women, and Steve taking up the rear.
Naeem had weakened over the afternoon, and John was supporting more and more of his weight as they crossed the field and rejoined the dirt road. John waited until everyone was on the road, then led them, walking southeast. The temperature had dropped considerably, and a cool breeze blew across the fields. The sky had clouded over as the afternoon wore on, and now the sun had set, the darkness was almost complete, the moon and stars conspicuously absent. Fortunately, the road was clear, and despite the darkness, they could follow it, the only sound coming from the scuffing of feet on loose pebbles and Naeem’s labored breathing. It was slow going though and it was over thirty minutes before John could see what looked to be the path Naeem had mentioned.
“Naeem,” he whispered, “Is this it?”
Naeem panted heavily and peered into the darkness. “I think so, I... don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s dark, I... I’ve only been here once before.”
The rest of the group caught up, and Steve moved to the front.
“What’s the matter?”
“He thinks this is it, but he’s not sure.”
“He thinks?” John could see Steve shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake, Naeem.”
“It’s dark.”
“Yeah, and you’re a fucking idiot,” Steve muttered.
“Steve, we don’t have any other option. We have to try it.”
“Yeah, well, I hope the little shit is right,” Steve grumbled and moved back to the rear of the group.
John stepped off the road, and slowly, Naeem leaning heavily on his shoulder, made his way along the track as the others followed behind.
The further away from the road, the grass and uncultivated wheat grew higher, closing in around them until they were walking through a tunnel of grass. Crickets chirped, and now and then, there was a rustle from the undergrowth as a nocturnal creature scuttled away to safety.
Naeem’s breathing grew heavier as they progressed, John taking more and more of his weight.
“Stop,” he whispered, and John halted, the woman behind him bumping into him in the darkness.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just need to get my breath.”
John lowered him to the ground, Naeem groaning as he stretched his leg out.
Mansur came forward, and John whispered to him to tell the others they would take a short break. While Mansur worked his way back down the group, whispering instructions, John did a quick mental calculation. They had been walking for ten minutes since they left the road. The highway must be near, if they had taken the right path, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Their pace had been much slower than John had expected, Naeem slowing them down considerably. He reached down and tapped Naeem on the shoulder.
“Come on, we have to get moving.” He grabbed Naeem’s arm and pulled him to his feet, Naeem groaning with the effort. “Let’s go.” John turned and whispered to the woman sitting behind him, “Yalla, yalla. Let’s go.” The woman whispered to the woman next to her, and so on, and slowly, the group got to their feet.
John frowned as someone spoke, their voice carrying easily in the quiet country air. He waited until they were all on their feet, then set off along the path. The cloud cover had cleared a little, allowing a small amount of moonlight to filter through, and he could just see the path ahead as it curved away out of sight in the grass. Hopefully, not far to go now. He rounded the bend and stumbled as Naeem tripped and put all his weight on John. John gritted his teeth, regained his footing, and pulled Naeem upright.
“Come on, Naeem, get it together,” he hissed.
Suddenly the world lit up as a powerful spotlight blinded John. Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield his eyes, and voices screamed at him in a language he didn’t understand. More lights came on around him, more shouted voices, mingling with the screams of the women. The lights disoriented him, and he let go of Naeem. The next thing he knew, hands were forcing him to the ground, and he was flat on his stomach in the dirt.
91
John slumped against the back of the chair with a peculiar sense of déjà vu.
He had been forced to the ground, his hands secured behind his back with flexi-cuffs, a hood pulled over his head, then had been drag-carried for about five minutes before being dumped on the floor of a vehicle. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to the others, everything blurring into a mess of screams and shouts. He had tried to tune into the conversations around him, but it was a language he hadn’t heard before, not Arabic, and he didn’t think it was the Kurdish he’d heard being spoken in northeastern Syria.
The vehicle had bumped and jolted for another ten minutes before joining a smoother surface. He lost track of time until the vehicle stopped, and they dragged him out, up some steps, then dumped him in the chair. No-one spoke, and he sat for a long time with only his thoughts for company. He wouldn’t allow himself to admit the fear lurking inside, forcing himself to be positive. He had been in this position before, and the universe had conspired to get him out of it. He had to believe it would happen again. There was no point in sitting in the chair, feeling sorry for himself.
He heard a door opening and a light being switched on. Someone walked behind him and pulled the hood off his head. He blinked rapidly, his eyes trying to adjust to the light. Another more powerful light turned on, and someone behind it adjusted it, so it was pointing at his face. Despite the situation, he felt slightly amused. What a cliché.
He saw a figure move out from behind the lamp, but that’s all it remained—a silhouette. He angled his face away, the light too bright for his eyes.
The fig
ure spoke, but again it was in the language he didn’t understand. The figure spoke again, this time a little louder.
“I don’t know what you are saying.”
The figure said something else, and this time, the man behind him answered, then walked out from behind John. John got a glimpse of a military uniform, then the man left the room. The other man watched him for a while before he left as well.
What was going on? Who were these people?
About ten minutes later, the door opened again, and a man walked in. John wasn’t sure if it was one of the men from before or a different one, the light in his eyes too bright. The man stood unmoving, and when he spoke, it was in accented English.
“What is your name?”
John hesitated. Did he tell the truth? Did he refuse to answer? He had no idea what the others were saying, assuming they had been captured too, so it was easiest to go with the truth.
“My name is John Hayes. I am an English citizen.”
“Why are you here, John Hayes?”
Again, he hesitated. Should he tell the whole story? The interrogation seemed a little more sophisticated than the one he had undergone with Abu Mujahid. Were they Syrian government? Then why weren’t they speaking Arabic? Was the dialect different in Syria? Not that it would help, he only knew a few words, anyway. He suddenly realized he was exhausted. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll, and he couldn’t be bothered fighting anymore. His head dropped down, and he stared at the floor.
“I came here to help my friend. His niece wanted to leave Syria, to go back home. We came to save her.”
The man said nothing for a while, and John wondered if he had understood.
“Can I have some water?” John’s mouth was dry, and he was hungry, very hungry. He hadn’t eaten since they left Arima. When had that been? Two? Three days ago?
“What is your friend’s name?”
Payback - John Hayes Series 06 (2020) Page 22